


As we shape this chemistry

by orphan_account



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Drugs, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 11:57:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9895478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Posted to livejournal in 2009, moving it over.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Posted to livejournal in 2009, moving it over.

Even with that constant noise pressuring down against the walls of his mind, silencing him, the worrying buzz wasn’t enough to silence the slow drip the Doctor could hear, if he remained very quiet. It hadn’t stopped ever since he’d woken up here, strapped to this metallic bed, almost completely unable to move, and with a needle digging in the soft flesh of his forearm, the slim metal tube slowly dripping… well, something into his veins. He was far too gone to be able to recollect a sample and analyze it.

The Doctor couldn’t even move his head, not with the thick leather collar maintaining his neck in place and pushing him further back against the cold hems of the bed’s structure. It wasn’t comfortable, but in the haze slowly moving over his mind, overcoming his consciousness and replacing it with a numb sleepy peace, it wasn’t as awful as he could have once considered; his eyes blinked open lazily, and that’s when he saw it, just on the corner of his vision, past the blurry edges of his golden hair.

And then, before the information could reach his brain and be processed, before he could even blink twice, he felt it as well.

If it weren’t for the drugs, the Doctor would have refused it completely, he would have panicked! However, they kept flowing onto his system – like a constant, a tide that rose to meet the gravity of a very dark moon, hindering the thudding of his hearts and slowing it all down until there was nothing but this, here.

“Stay quiet,” a voice growled huskily onto his ear, “Or this will hurt more than it should.”

Between the way his body relaxed involuntarily when the other – Time Lord, even his is state of catharsis, that much was obvious -- placed a finger just above where the choker had been wrapped around his throat, and knee very firmly digging its way between his bound legs, the Doctor didn’t have time, he didn’t expect the way the offensive edge was yanked away from his arm, splashing the skin of his arm with drops of his own blood.

Before he was even able to utter a single word, the other’s mouth slid wetly over the bruised and smudged skin, running across the whole in his arm and lapping at every single red mark, and the Doctor had to himself from trying to wriggle it away, the beard tickled! “A good work,” he muttered darkly, not yet releasing the Doctor. “But we are not done yet.”

He couldn’t push away – as a matter of fact, there was nothing the Doctor could have done to stop the way the Master’s hands moved across his bare chest (jacket having just been pulled open and aside), but neither was he able to enjoy it, nor would he ever – perhaps, if he were less drugged, more aware of his surroundings he could have accepted this as one fixed happening across time and space, accepting it, and allowing himself to enjoy it, even if slightly. As it stood, the Doctor didn’t even comprehend how suddenly his hands found themselves tied above his head, and instead of lying down as before, he’d been pressed against an equally cold wall.

Whatever had happened in between those two realizations, just… wasn’t there for him to remember anymore. Though, alike any Time Lord, he would have to stop himself from dreaming about it later.

It wasn’t pleasurable for him when the same (strangely warm) mouth from before found its way to his knees, tongue flattening itself against the flesh there and dragging a very moist path towards the inside of the Doctor’s thighs. That was when he started to struggle. Sluggish at first: his clenched fists shaking through its makeshift handcuffs, his whole body tensing up until the Master’s tongue suddenly seemed harsh and cold against his skin.

Only when a finger pressed inside him, that he started to trash away, furiously – it wasn’t like himself that this regeneration had probably never seen a more frenzied moment before – blinking away the tears that forced their way down his cheeks, allowing the Doctor to taste his own salty bitterness. “Master.” He gasped, feeling the other’s hand tangle themselves in his longer hair, “Please. Don’t.” But it seemed to be too late, and there was no obvious reply to his whispered pleas.

After, the only remembrance of this moment would be the steady ache between his legs and the dried up semen coating the inside of his thighs. But right now, there was the stinging pain, as the drug’s effect faded away, dulled by the rapid Time Lord metabolism, along with the complete absence of pleasure – the Master’s action hadn’t even managed to arouse him the slightest (that wasn’t the point, was it?) as the other sheathed himself fully inside of the Doctor and rode him, nearly soundlessly.

“No, no.” he found himself breathing out through gritted teeth, “Stop this. Please.” And there they were again, the tears hitching his breath and making it so hard to breathe when he glanced up at the other’s face and saw the look of utter triumph plastered there. “You don’t want-“he was silenced by a mouth crushing against his own, stealing the air from his lungs in a extremely provocative motion (that was completely wasted on the Doctor’s, given the state of his currently pain addled mind) and by fingers intertwining with golden locks of hair, hauling them against the Doctor’s face as he reached the climax of his actions.

“Don’t try to read into my actions.” The Master moved over the Doctor, nearly growling as he slid off the other’s body and picked up another needle and a syringe from the bedside-counter-like table top. Its insides were attached to a crystal vial, containing such dark colored liquid that for a moment, the Doctor thought it was nothing but void or filled with that tricky black matter. Both were incorrect guesses. He tried to push and twist away when the Master took a hold of a wrist and quickly inserted the needle’s point into his skin, pressing its head and allowing whatever was contained within the glass to flow right into the Doctor. But he was ultimately defenseless, while the Master held all the cards way above his head, too high for him to reach them.

The last thing any of the Doctor’s senses registered was the soft click of the devices binding him being undone and incredibly soft lips brushing a kiss against his tear marred cheek.

\---

When he managed to shake the myriad of dreams – memories the Doctor just didn’t want to dwell in -- aside and return to consciousness, opening his eyes with difficulty against the dried tears that had settled over the skin of his eyelids, there was a slim, yet noticeable shadow being cast onto the floor by a previously unnoticed object . And that was all he could pay attention to, at first. The way it shook and flickered frantically, casting the most awe worthy pictures on the cold stone pavement.

The second thing that wedged on the Doctor’s slowly re-awakening mind were the bindings laying at his sides, the handcuffs neatly placed over of his crème jacket and the collar still straightened over his throat.

_…he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. No air. And the pain—frantic. God, god? Any god? It hurt so muchsomuchsomuch._

A gasp torn past his lips, still swollen from the way… —no he didn’t want, wouldn’t remember, couldn’t go back to it – and the Doctor fumbled with the flimsy sheets covering his body to get himself up and away, the furthest from that place as possible. If he’d been given a choice, perhaps – maybe, there would have been the possibility, that he would have accepted their little… while the Doctor wanted to lean towards the word: rendezvous, it had been more like – he swallowed down tightly – a one night stand: with the Master.

But no. He didn’t. And now the pain was starting to creep its way through every single one of his tendons and muscles and suddenly his whole being was shaking against one of the walls – and he could swear there was fire settling in his lungs ablaze. Fire driven by, licking at the poison he’d been injected with last night.

_Black eyes glaring into his own, speaking their own language of pain and torture, of achievement and control and claim. All he could do was try to withstand it, this… ritual. It—_

The Doctor swayed on his feet, one palm very firmly set on the wall behind him, while the other run its way up to his temple, stroking the damp, blond locks of hair slowly. He would have been able to deal with the pain by himself, whereas this – his fingers curled up around one strand of hair, pushing it down against his forehead – this drug was prying through his system, perceptibly meddling with settings that weren’t supposed to be messed with. He was burning up, igniting. He could see it, inside his head, the way his veins convulsed, stretching and throbbing while trying to expulse the repulsive venom away.

It really wasn’t working.

But—the Master would never. He wouldn’t have him dead, would he? The Doctor fell soundly to his knees, coughing up hysterically for moments, before he was lulled, forced back to sleep by the hum of the TARDIS, standing hundred of meters away and still able to reach out to him, to engulf him – his ever patient girl – whispering soothing thoughts into the back of his mind.

Flashes that only his mind’s eye was able to withstand observing: there was a mouth slithering down the line of his collarbone, purposefully bypassing the sensitive area around his nipples and moving lower—always lower, and louder, melting the walls surrounding his mind.

_Snap. Vulnerability had never been this terrifying._

_And then, there was the Master’s face, looking at him with his own unique kind of impassive influence and a smooth grin that spoke only of success. “Come back and….” He mouthed, raising one eyebrow. “Obey your Master.” More pain, sound, the sick dash of a blade – oh god NO!_

_When he dared to open his eyes again, the only thing that caught his mind’s interest was the richly engraved dagger, floating across its inside, digging onto the walls of his brain with a ruthless calm. Piece by piece, setting them all apart, evaluating, cataloging._

_And the barely audible rustle of a paper sheet being scribbled on._

_He felt sick._


End file.
